


Tryin' to Hold My Breath

by PanicFOB



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 40s!Steve, F/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanicFOB/pseuds/PanicFOB
Summary: You struggle with whether or not to tell Steve how you feel. Inspired by the song 'Never Enough' from The Greatest Showman soundtrack.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	Tryin' to Hold My Breath

Never in your life had you seen something so beautiful as a simple sketch done by Steve Rogers while he tried to stay awake during mathematics. You hadn’t even known that he liked to draw, but the mildly distracting noises of a pencil scratching quickly against a sliver of paper were enough to gather your attention one day. When the bell had rung, and Steve had dashed out the door to likely meet up with Bucky Barnes, you had walked over to his desk and found the simple doodle still resting there. It was a lovely copy of the view out the classroom window. He’d captured it perfectly without hardly any effort at all. You wondered what he could do with much more time, focus, and better supplies.

That was when you made your choice. Throughout school, you had always been appreciative of Steve’s handsome looks. Sure, he was short in stature for a man, but it wasn’t as if he was tiny. And yes, he wasn’t the most macho guy you’d ever laid eyes on, but what all did that really matter anyway? His health problems were troubling, of course, but those certainly weren’t his fault. He’d likely be rid of his asthma if he had any say in the matter.

But his nose, the perfect curve of his nose had you daydreaming for hours. The delicate brush of his golden hair across his furrowed forehead had you staring for far too long. The perfect plumpness of those lips that always curved into a smile at the presence of his best pal Barnes had you wishing to know what they’d feel like against your own. Those long and slender fingers that cradled a pencil so delicately and precise, they made you want to be held by Steve Rogers all night long.

You had always found him attractive in school, but this new discovery of his impeccable drawing talent made you realize something else entirely. You wanted to fall in love with the man. You didn’t know a whole lot about him, other than that he was always impressively polite to the ladies and that he wasn’t afraid to speak up against any bully. But you knew that if you sought him out and talked with him more, it would be so easy to fall.

After your final year of school, you went to work at a textile mill to help your single mother take care of your younger sister. It was long hours, and you were usually exhausted after work, but you’d found a new tradition of meeting Steve and Bucky at the local diner for a small snack before heading home for a proper dinner home-cooked by your doting mother. It had been an accident at first, running into the pair of them there, but then you’d kept coming back because their joyful banter and charming smiles were just so intoxicating.

Barnes was a real science nerd, but that didn’t stop him from wooing any woman that walked his way wearing bright red lipstick. He was a sucker for them all, and you and Steve smirked and rolled your eyes in unison each time Bucky ditched the pair of you for a new dancing partner at the local club.

It took nearly a year of this routine before you convinced Steve to draw something for you. Something you could keep.

He’d asked what you wanted a sketch of, suggesting he could do a portrait of your face, but you weren’t ready for that. You didn’t want to see yourself as Steve Rogers saw you just yet. You pointed to the half-empty milkshake glass with two straws hanging out of it on opposite sides. It was a symbol of your connection to Steve. “Draw that,” you told him. He happily obliged.

The next time he drew something for you, you hadn’t asked him for it. Bucky had insisted the three of you stay out late to watch an expected meteor shower. As you’d been captivated by the light of the stars, Steve had been silently sketching the way the moonlight fell across your face. It was then that you realized you’d succeeded in your effort to fall in love with him. You remembered the way that your throat closed up as he handed the drawing to you. You tried your best to hold your breath because you knew if you let it out, it would sound shaky and reveal the intensity of your feelings. You thanked him for capturing you so flatteringly. You took it home and stayed up the remainder of the night staring at it.

When the war began, you quickly realized where Steve’s attentions would remain for many years to come. He was brave. He was determined. And as much as you and Bucky both knew he would never be accepted, you secretly thought that Steven Grant Rogers would make the best damn soldier you’d ever seen.

Sometimes, when you’d sneak away from your mother’s home and spend late evenings on the old couch at the two friends’ apartment, you would randomly pull Steve’s hands into your own. He’d give you a quizzical look as you admired each knuckle, each nail. You thought of all the times these wonderful hands had clenched in fists of indignation at an injustice being done. You thought of all the times they had brushed the hair out of his eyes. All the times they had given Bucky a reassuring clap on the shoulder. All the times that his long fingers pointed out the latest war updates in the papers, eyes narrowed as he read the words carefully looking for hidden meanings in-between the lines. You realized, as you gently rubbed your index finger across the soft spots of his palms, that these small hands could hold the entire world within them. They had a magic to them that was indescribable.

When you exited the textile factory late one afternoon, you were surprised to find Bucky waiting for you.

“What’s going on? Is Steve all right?” Your heart was instantly fluttering with panic.

“He’s fine. Just thought you might need someone to walk you to the diner today.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “What are you up to, Bucky?”

He shrugged, and for a long moment, you thought he wasn’t going to explain himself. Then, he said, “Are you ever going to tell him?”

“Tell whom what?”

“Tell Steve you’re in love with him?”

And it was funny that you had never landed on the answer to this in your head when you’d asked this very same question to yourself a thousand times, but as Bucky posed it to you now, the answer became crystal clear. “No, I won’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I think you already know the answer to that. Steve’s too focused on the war. He’s in no mindset for being in a relationship.”

“So, it was all a mistake then? Your feelings for him a complete accident?”

You shook your head and blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall from the corners of your eyes. “Not at all. It was a commitment. Perhaps a stupid one, but I went into it knowing exactly who Steve was. I knew he’d always be the type to choose nobleness over happiness. I knew that nothing, not even a pretty dame, could get in the way of his persistent fight against bullies. That’s the choice. I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.”

“Even though it hurts?”

“Even in the most gut-wrenching, heart-twisting moments. Even on the nights I fall asleep knowing that not even a tower of gold could be enough to make me happy if I never had him. I’ll choose to love him even as he finds a way to leave me for the war. I’ll still choose it if he never returns.”

“Seems like you’re just making yourself miserable for no reason.”

“Have you ever loved any of the women you’ve taken dancing, Bucky?”

“No…”

“It can be miserable, but it’s also the only thing that feels worth the trouble in this world. Loving Steve is the only decision I’ve made in this life that I’m certain I’ll never regret.”

“And what if I told him about this conversation? Would you be angry with me?”

“No, but I think Steve would. He knows better than you do how I feel about him. He chooses to pretend otherwise because of the war. I choose to let him.”

As Bucky raised protests to your statements, swearing that if Steve knew he would have surely asked you for a date by now, you tuned him out and quickened your pace, excited to see the object of your interest waiting happily at a corner booth in the diner with a chocolate milkshake to be shared between you.

You slid in across the table from him. He gave you a tender look. In it, in those vibrant shades of blue that could see anything within you, you saw the picture he was sketching just for you. You realized that the love you shared with Steve was a silent language, and no matter how many times he held back from saying it, you could feel its warm embrace in his presence. Perhaps you would never truly know, but it seemed that despite no material good or affection of another man being enough to feel the void, this unspoken adoration and fondness that screamed across your lingering gazes could truly be enough. The strongest forms of love didn’t always have to be shouted through busy streets and echoed off the stone walls of Brooklyn buildings. It was enough to hold onto at night, and it might just have been enough to grasp if Steve did go off to war.


End file.
